


reprieve

by ivelostmyspectacles



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Episode 180 Related, Episode Related, Established Relationship, Jon and Martin being soft, M/M, Making Out, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28871322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/ivelostmyspectacles
Summary: This is… it’s crazy, isn’t it? Not only are they stuck in the apocalypse but now they’re… in Upton House, apparently? Sleeping in a bed meant for lords and ladies, with Jon nudging closer to his side, sleepy and satiated.Christ,it doesn’t feel real, but in a good way, this time. “How did you sleep?” he asks, because, well, he might as well.Post episode 180, Jon and Martin have a moment
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood
Comments: 22
Kudos: 141





	reprieve

Martin opens his eyes. For all of his trouble, he can’t exactly remember _closing_ them… but then he decides that it must be okay. He feels… good. Comfortable. And he hasn’t felt comfortable in so long– well, no, he hasn’t been _un_ comfortable, but he hasn’t been _comfortable,_ either… like the concept’s been in the back of his mind, although not one he’s been able to digest recently. Recently… recently… oh.

He opens his eyes again, and keeps them open this time. He’s in bed, a large, luxurious one that definitely isn’t _his,_ and Jon is laying awake next to him. Looking tired and comfy and he smiles when Martin meets his gaze, greeting him groggily, “hi.” He’s soft like this, early mornings Martin doesn’t remember having for… _weeks,_ maybe, and he’d barely even begun to appreciate them when he had had. His heart thuds painfully loud in his chest, and he feels light.

Martin smiles warmly, and responds. “Hi.” Jon’s smile is gentle, and a small thing, but it almost knocks the breath out of him. Then he forces himself to ask the question he knows he should, even if he… even if he just wants to lie here and bask in the morning… is it morning? “What– um, what happened?” he manages.

“I… I think we fell asleep,” Jon says, voice all soft and quiet– God, focus, Martin. It’s just that he hasn’t had– they haven’t had _time_ to focus on _little things_ lately, have they?

“Why?” He can’t help eyeballing the few inches between them, and scooting over to clear it. Jon moves with him, and Martin wiggles a hand free from under the pillow to take Jon’s hand. “I mean– I thought… I thought we… didn’t.”

“I don’t know,” Jon says, and it’s with that same kind of almost wondrous glee from earlier. Just a little muted, but a nap after however long they’ve been awake probably did that. “This place, it’s a–”

“– blind spot,” Martin finishes. “But even to the _apocalypse?_ How– how can a place just _blow off_ the apocalypse?”

“I don’t know,” Jon repeats, and Christ, that smile just about _murders_ Martin right here and now. His excitement about the unknown isn’t good, but he can’t fault him. Not like this. 

“Right,” he says faintly, and squeezes Jon’s hand. Jon grips back at his fingers, and Martin blows out a gust of air that comes with laughter. This is… it’s crazy, isn’t it? Not only are they stuck in the apocalypse– caused by Elias, via Jon– but now they’re… in Upton House, apparently? Sleeping in a bed meant for lords and ladies, with Jon nudging closer to his side, sleepy and satiated. _Christ,_ it doesn’t feel real, but in a good way, this time. “How did you sleep?” he asks, because, well, he might as well.

“Good,” Jon says. It should hurt Martin’s heart that he looks so… surprised, as he says that. So cautiously optimistic, but nothing can hurt him right now. He doesn’t think anything can hurt him right now. “You?”

“Really well,” Martin replies, giving a little experimental stretch of his body. He thinks he ought to… he doesn’t know, hurt? From all the walking and running and general… _everything,_ but he doesn’t. He just feels good. Content. “I think that’s maybe the best I’ve slept since, er, since before the archives,” he admits, and Jon laughs warmly, close enough now that Martin can feel his breath.

“Probably. Same,” Jon murmurs, eyes flicking to Martin’s again.

God, this is like they’re in a storybook right now. Martin laughs in disbelief, and then wraps his arms around Jon, even if he knows this isn’t a storybook, and even if it were, they definitely wouldn’t be part of anything other than the tragedy or horror genre. But for now… 

“Yes,” Jon laughs, slipping an arm around Martin, too, “thanks for that.”

“You don’t have to ask me to _cuddle,_ Jon.” Jon nestles up against him, face tucked beneath his chin, and Martin breathes out another noise that can only be described as happy. And he is happy. But somewhere, at the back of his mind, he wonders: how long will this last? How long can they stay this way? “Is this…” He sighs into Jon’s hair, mouthing against a streak of gray. “Is this _safe?_ I mean, how long can we stay like this?”

“I don’t know,” Jon says, _again._ Okay, part of him is just saying it since he’s able to say it, Martin’s _certain._ “I– I _think–_ I feel like it’s different, here. Time is different here.”

“So we can’t stay here forever–”

“No.”

“– but it won’t change things if we stay for a while longer?” he ventures, willing to let himself believe it if Jon says it, even though he’s been well apprised of just _how much_ Jon doesn’t know right now– 

“Yes,” Jon says, and that’s enough for him.

It’s enough for him.

He breathes out against Jon’s hair, plants something that’s closer to a kiss against the top of his head. And then he wants to… to do that again, so he does. And he lets his mouth linger there, lingering in the kiss, just… letting himself feel comfortable. Letting himself have this. They deserve it. He can push the rest away, for now. Just for right now.

Jon tilts his head back, looking up at Martin again, and Christ, he hasn’t seen Jon looking this… at peace… in a long time. Like, sure, the jokes have been _lovely,_ but this– this is, like, all the times he’d daydreamed about what Jon would look like, sleepy and satiated in the morning. Back before all of the archives stuff had started happening, back when Jon was just his grumpy boss Martin had an inopportune crush on. Casual daydreams.

Somehow, in the middle of the apocalypse, Martin was getting to live them.

He ought not to trust that at all, and part of him didn’t, but the other– _happy–_ part was just… more than willing to accept it. “Is it alright if I kiss you?” he asks without thinking, and Jon– somehow– looks _more_ pleased.

“You don’t have to _ask_ to kiss me, Martin,” he says patiently, and then stretches a bit so he’s closer to Martin’s mouth. And– alright, that just about does him in, whew–

He knows he doesn’t have to ask. They’d established that a few weeks ago, and that’s okay, that’s _good._ But Martin doesn’t mind being careful with Jon. He _likes_ being able to take the time to be careful with him, when they have the chance. Jon’s worth that, and so much more.

But he’s asked and Jon’s granted permission and almost looks _eager,_ and so that’s Martin done; he leans the few inches in for that kiss, careful and slow. They have time, right now.

It’s… nice. God, there’s no other word for it, and he knows he’s just beating around the same bush here, but it just _is._ Warm with blankets that are soft and clean draped around their waists, Jon’s hand sneaking to rest against Martin’s chest now for a bit of leverage for the kiss. Sleepy… lazy. The lazy mornings they should have had. Like those two weeks in the safehouse, but _better,_ now.

_Because you’ve been traipsing through hell, Martin,_ something says, matter of fact, in his head. _The longer you go without it, the more cherished it becomes._ That’s almost a startlingly nice bit of poetry. He hasn’t wanted to write poetry in so long. He hasn’t wanted to do anything in so long, actually. Just escape the apocalypse, but then, that didn’t _really_ count, did it?

Right now, he… wants to kiss Jon. So he does, hooking his ankle across Jon’s leg, and slipping his hand up into his hair. He could stay like this forever. He disregards how dangerous of a thought that is and smiles when Jon presses into the kiss.

They’re fine for now, and that’s what matters.

He’s… missed this. And he doesn’t want to get into too _Lonely_ of sounding territory here, but… he _has._ It’s not like they don’t hold hands walking through the domains, but this is different. Less necessity and more desire, and this bed is very, very nice. Jon is very, very nice.

So yeah, things aren’t perfect. The end of the world is happening outside, and the panopticon awaits looming in the distance, and you know what? Martin’s startlingly aware that they need a bath, with the grit of dirt and dust in Jon’s hair and the taste of sweat against his neck when Martin ducks his head to kiss and suck there. A bath with Jon sounds _heavenly._ Hot water. Soap. Being able to wash Jon, pressed up against his water warm body, hands meticulous in washing away every piece of muck and mud that’s clung on from the past few weeks. God, that just sounds _wonderful._

He pulls Jon right up against him in lieu of being able to do all that yet. Jon goes with a muffled noise, one that’s surprised but pleased, and laughs as he kisses at the stubble on Martin’s jaw.

“We don't have to be so reckless, Martin,” he says, teasing, and for a second Martin doesn’t get it, outside of the usual, but then Jon slots his leg between Martin’s thighs and oh, _oh!_ He hadn’t– he hadn’t noticed– Christ.

He forces himself to stop kissing Jon, pulling back enough to breathe. “Sorry.” That was embarrassing. Less embarrassing than it would have been, once, but even still. Popping a stiffy over kissing his boyfriend like he was sixteen years old again. “‘m sorry. I’m– um.”

“It’s fine.” Jon still sounds amused, which is good, and he’s still kissing his jaw, which is– becoming difficult, now– 

“I’m not used to this, I guess,” Martin blabbers on. “I mean– not that I’m _not,_ just… not _lately?_ Like– like _this?”_ He has to take a breath as Jon traces a finger along his collarbone, and only starts to realize then that… that’s _true._ He hasn’t been– the past few weeks– well, of course Jon was still Jon and Martin rather enjoyed him with or without a sexual element, but he hasn’t been, erm, _turned on,_ in a while. “I think this is the first time I’ve gotten hard since the apocalypse started,” he says, and then cringes, because _why– WHY–_ had he just said that to _Jon–_ he could have _phrased_ it better, anyway– Christ!

But Jon just laughs in a way that isn’t at all malicious, or uncomfortable, and removes his hand from Martin’s chest. “Welcome to my world.” He rolls onto his back, then, putting just enough space between them so they… so _Martin,_ at least, can calm down. “I’m sorry, though. I… wasn’t helping.”

“No. No, you were _definitely_ helping,” Martin says quickly.

Jon _proper_ laughs, then, not just a little huff of breath but actual laughter, the kind that sounds so good coming from him. Especially these days. “Well, I’ll endeavor to be less charming. Think of me smiting someone.”

“That…” The inkling of a thrill fizzles through his veins again. Martin wonders how he _hadn’t_ gotten… afflicted out on the road. Because, okay, Jon doing his _Archivist_ things out there had been… nice, sure, he’d had a few _feelings,_ but they’d been easily put aside and not at all like _this._ “… doesn’t help.”

Jon blinks, tilting his head on the pillow. “You’re getting turned on over my _smiting_ people?”

“No!” Martin blusters. But, well. “No, that sounds so _bad!_ I’m just– your– _powers,_ they aren’t… they’re kinda, I don’t know. They can be kinda sexy? Jesus, Jon.”

“Oh.” He expects… judgment, maybe, a _little,_ but Jon’s just… smiling, even as he looks back at the ceiling. “I apologize for the past few weeks, then,” he says, _smirking._

“I _just_ said I hadn’t– just, _stop it,”_ Martin complains, giving his arm a swat for good measure. “Stop it. Sorry I’m _horny,_ Jon," he monotones.

“No need to apologize.”

It’s nice to hear his voice like this, too. More awake, now, definitely, but still quiet and calm and… playful, even if it is at Martin’s expense. Not like he cares. Not like he _can_ care, when Jon looks all teasing-smug like that.

The knock on the door startles them both. He jumps, feels Jon wince next to him, too. Knocking… bad. Still bad. He _hates,_ really hates, that their moment has been interrupted, but ventures, “do we… open that?”

“I doubt we have much choice, do we?” And then, before Martin is at all prepared, calls “come in.”

And, okay, _fine,_ it’s not like they’re _naked_ or anything, and– and _someone_ had gotten them into a bed, anyway, but it’s just– Martin’s completely unprepared! And he’s still hard! Not that– that anyone could _see,_ but still– He feels his eyes widen and he grips for the blanket to yank up past his shoulders, and that’s about as far as he gets before the door swings gently open.

It’s Annabelle, of course. Who else would it be, after… last night? God, Martin doesn’t even know how long they’ve been asleep. It feels like _ages._ But it’s Annabelle, and even though she doesn’t _seem?_ to be much of a threat at present, and she’d invited them in in the first place, he’s just… she’s _The Web._ He can’t trust her, even if Jon doesn’t deem it necessary to do much more than fold his arm beneath his head and get _comfy._

“Well now,” Annabelle says, over the clink of something like glassware. Silverware. A spoon in a mug. Martin wonders if that’s _tea._ “You two are looking _much_ more rested. Mikaele will be pleased.” Something is placed down. It’s definitely a mug. It might just _definitely_ be tea, and tea sounds _almost_ as good as sex. He doesn’t want to roll over to face Annabelle, but if there’s _tea–_

“I assume he’s waiting?” Jon asks.

“Oh, patiently,” Annabelle says pleasantly. “Don’t worry your head, Archivist. Mikaele’s a patient man, for you and Mr Blackwood.”

“Oh?”

“He says to rest as much as you need, but does request you have a bath before coming down to talk.”

“That sounds lovely.” Jon hums, and then pushes himself up to sit. Tangled hair falls over his shoulders and his shirt’s still away from his throat; the _mark_ Martin’d sucked there is starting to show up already. _God._ “Is that complimentary breakfast, then?” Jon continues, rubbing his face.

“More or less. Scones and tea.” _Scones and tea._ Oh _fuck,_ Martin is _starving._ “There’ll be a proper meal when you make your way downstairs, but until then.”

“Well done,” Jon murmurs. “We appreciate it. Right, Martin?”

“… yes,” he says, begrudging as he is. But it’s still _food,_ and a bed, and… a moment, so… he isn’t totally ungrateful. “I won’t say I _trust_ it,” he adds, “but I appreciate it, anyway.”

“Aw. Well, you have time to warm up to me yet, Mr Blackwood.” It sounds like she’s smiling, but Martin doesn’t look. “There’s a master bath down the hall. Please make use of it.”

“We will,” Jon promises, and then Annabelle is gone, door closing softly behind her. Jon’s already shoving out of bed, making a beeline for the tray of food. He’s probably as hungry as Martin is. Maybe moreso, with all the… super eldritch powers he has to fuel and all. _“Scones,_ Martin.”

“I heard.” He’s tangled in the blankets now. All he wants is tea. And scones. Stupid blankets. 

“And clotted cream,” Jon continues, and sounds so excited– he laughs, again, and takes a sip of tea. “Proper clotted cream.”

“I’m–” He finally kicks the blanket away and rolls to his feet. “I heard you. Christ, _food_ has never looked so good.” And he doesn’t really feel bad for reaching around Jon for a scone and dipping it directly into the little pot of lemon curd. Maybe a little bad. But not _really._ He puts it in his mouth and it’s the best damn scone he’s ever had. “Oh my God. ‘s so _good.”_ He could wiggle from happiness. If he were a dog, he’d be _wiggling_ from happiness.

“Agreed,” Jon says, and he manages to look so _proper_ even while excited, whereas Martin just wants to shove, like, three of these things in his mouth at once. He doesn’t, but even still, Jon laughs at him with a chastising little “Martin,” as a few crumbs fall. “You’re making a mess.”

“I know, I know, I need a plate–”

“Your _face,”_ Jon laughs, and then stretches up and kisses him. Kisses the corner of his mouth, more like. Even though it’s still definitely nice, and makes Martin all giddy again, he realizes pretty quickly Jon’s just kissing away the lemon curd that must be on his mouth. 

“Jon.”

“A _mess,”_ Jon repeats, and pulls back. “Oh. Zesty,” he comments, licking his lips.

_“Hey,_ don’t worry about me. I’ve got this,” Martin says, and before Jon can anticipate the moment, reaches over to swipe his finger through the clotted cream on Jon’s scone, which he immediately smears across Jon’s cheek. _“You’re_ messy,” he taunts, as Jon splutters and laughs and reaches for more cream for either his scone, or Martin, he isn’t sure–

– well, not like it matters. They’re going to need a bath, either way.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so close to catching up to the current episodes but then 180 happens and I have to take a break to write 3k of FLUFF that is actually plausible?? Like?? they get to sleep and take a bath? Jonny being nice to them? what??? I'm happy they get a moment 🥺 so I took the idea and ran with it 🥺🥺🥺


End file.
